


Not Exactly What You Might Call Airtight

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode Related, Fic, Gen, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:19:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very spoilery episode tag to 3.06.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Exactly What You Might Call Airtight

After the arrest, Carlyle's lawyer, Tony, meets with Carlyle. Carlyle tells Tony that the diamonds definitely weren't in the safe the night before and demands he investigate. At first Tony thinks Carlyle's spinning a line of bull, or that he's been coked out of his skull all week and he simply doesn't know what really went down, but Carlyle insists. Carlyle says he knows what he knows. Tony figures what the hell; the guy pays by the hour.

Tony calls Veronica, the girl he's seeing in a casual on-again, off-again way, and tells her, "Sorry, babe, I can't make it today, but I swear, tomorrow night: you, me and a hot tub. Hey, you know what? Bring a friend."

Veronica pouts. Tony promises her champagne and hangs up. Tony goes to talk to the Saturday security guy in Carlyle's building, Edwin.

Tony asks if Edwin saw anything out of the ordinary that afternoon, before the FBI swarmed into the building. Edwin thinks for a second and says, "Well, there was this one guy with an umbrella blocking the security camera. It was probably nothing. I told him to leave and he didn't give me any trouble, just went outside."

Tony has a suspicious mind. His ears perk up at the mention of the security camera. "Where was this guy?"

"Over by the elevators," says Edwin, and the two of them go and examine the area. Edwin notices the hole drilled in the door, plugged but still visible, and he points it out. "Damn, I must have missed that."

Tony snaps his fingers. "This is how they got in, the bastards. It was a set-up. Did you get a good look at the umbrella guy?"

"Yeah, pretty good," says Edwin. "Early to mid-thirties, Caucasian, medium build, dark wavy hair. He was wearing a suit."

"Okay, call your boss," says Tony. "You're officially off-duty. I'm taking you uptown to my office and my cousin's going to come sit with you. He used to work as a sketch artist with NYPD."

"Yes, sir," says Edwin, silently saying goodbye to his Saturday night plans (dinner and a movie with his new boyfriend). "Oh, there's something else. When Mr. Carlyle was out yesterday afternoon, an escort showed up for him, real expensive-looking. I called up to Mr. Carlyle's office, and his assistant said to send the girl up."

Tony points at him, nearly jabbing him in the chest. "A hooker? Carlyle didn't mention a hooker. What time was this?"

"About 2:30. Maybe 2:45." Edwin thinks for a second. "She should be on the security tape."

Tony drums his fingers on his thigh for a moment, taking that in. "Okay, get the tape. We can check it at—" He stops dead and his eyes widen. "Expensive-looking, you say? What exactly was she wearing?"

"A red trench coat," says Edwin, "and not much else, if you know what I mean. Just a glittery corset and a skirt that was more like a belt."

Tony claps his hands together and allows himself a little two-step victory dance. "I'll tell you this for a dollar and change: that was no corset. It was a diamond bustier."

"Maybe," says Edwin. "I don't think I've ever seen a bustier before."

But Tony isn't listening. "Mother-fucking _assholes_ ," he says. "We've got them. We have got them by their goddamned balls! They break into Carlyle's office, plant the bustier in the safe, and then thirty seconds later a Fed happens to drop by and ask questions. On a Saturday." He shakes his head. "No way that's a coincidence. No fucking way. Forget my cousin—we're taking this to the cops."

"Yes, sir." Edwin goes behind the security desk to call his boss and collect his jacket.

 

*

 

When Tony talks to Carlyle, Carlyle's livid. "You took our witness to the cops?! What if the cops connect me to the diamonds, man? What the hell were you thinking?"

"Listen to me," says Tony. "The Feds have nothing on you. Zee-fucking-ro. This whole case is dirtier than a syphilitic raccoon." Carlyle starts to interrupt, but Tony talks over him. " _Listen_ , okay? I guarantee I can get you off, scot-free—and we can sue the government for harassment into the bargain. You want to know why?"

"Yeah." Carlyle sits sideways on his bench seat and leans back against the wall. He still looks mad, and his voice is dangerously quiet. "Explain."

"The guy who left that little unsolicited gift in your office? Neal Caffrey. None other than an FBI consultant." Tony's almost bursting with triumph. "There was an insurance investigator there too. A chick. Haven't worked out how she factors in, but we sure got proof you were set up."

"Proof?" It takes a moment for Carlyle's tension to boil off, and then his slump against the wall turns into a languid sprawl and a hyena-like grin spreads across his face. "All right!"

Tony grins back, unaware that his slightly elongated canines make him look alarmingly werewolvian. "Proof."

"I'm just saying," China mutters under her breath, "it's not exactly an air-tight case." She backs out of the prison interview room without making a sound, because these guys are creeping her out.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains no spoilers for promos, next-week-ons or future episodes. Please help me stay unspoiled.


End file.
